3rd of Cylus 720
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Since meeting with Kasoria, Oberan had been busy. Not in the sense that there was a whole lot of official work to take care of. On the contrary, there was as little of that as per usual. Instead, the Mortalborn’d been focusing his attention on Sintra’s continuing ‘benevolent’ occupation of Etzos, and her ever-growing popularity. It worried him that more and more people were being charmed by the silver-tongued Immortal, whereas the same individuals would have committed suicide at the thought of allowing a Morty to sully the streets of fair Etzos with her foul presence not a few cycles earlier.
True to her title, Sintra had successfully manipulated a large chunk of the populace into complacency, coming to terms with a loathsome creature dwelling in their midst. Before the siege on Rhakros, the idea alone wouldn’t even feature in their worst nightmares. Mentioning the possibility of Etzos serving an Immortal would get you beaten down where you stood, if you weren’t outright lynched first. Yet here they were, Sintra resided somewhere in the high spires of Etzos’ Commercial Circle –at least, so it was presumed—and few Etzori batted an eye.
Oberan’d spoken to several people about the matter, gauging the opinions of people in the streets. Only some held on to the values of the city. Mostly the older generations, those too stubborn and set in their ways. Some nutcases too, doom thinkers and conspiracy theorists. They who believed Pahrn had been replaced by a Yludih imposter years ago, and who were convinced Lord Vuda survived by eating the souls of orphaned children or street urchins. (That’s why he left the city when Lisirra attacked. You see, disease spreads easily in orphanages and homeless waifs were among the first to die from the plagues. Vuda ran out of suitable nourishment, and had to leave, lest he starve to death.) Ironically, those delusional theorists concluded Sintra was playing the long con and had set everything up in an attempt to become Etzos’ patron deity, gaining more worship and power in the process.
It made the thief question whether or not he was one of those weirdos.
Most people had simply shrugged in response to his question. Things were the same with Sintra or without her, so they actually didn’t really mind. It didn’t affect them, so it was fine. Without Sintra, Etzos would have fallen, a few spoke, it only made sense that Etzos accommodate her in return. Also, you never knew when another Immortal might try to level the city. With Sintra present, they had a reliable protector ready. It wasn’t like she was forcing the Etzori to do anything they didn’t want to anyway. People didn’t have to pay tribute to her, they didn’t have to worship. Such things were appreciated by the Immortal, but they weren’t obligatory.
No-one realized such things might come later. Perhaps not tomorrow, next cycle, or next year. Perhaps it wasn’t for this century. Yet, slowly and surely and meticulously, Sintra would condition the Etzori into devotees. Etzos wouldn’t change overnight. It would shift and develop at a snail’s pace, too slow to notice in the moment. Only when compared to what the city used to be would people realize how different things were. By that point, it would be too late. Hell, by that point, people would probably think the changes were for the better. Manipulating the populace into thinking every alteration was their own idea in the first place did sound like a very Sintra thing to do.
In that sense, the longer she remained in the city, the harder it’d be to kick her out.
Oberan needed to hurry, but gathering intelligence and evidence couldn’t be rushed. He needed time. He needed to tread carefully, as strands of Sintra’s web were everywhere.
Additionally, finding said evidence was hard enough as it was. Webspinner safehouses and hideouts were difficult to locate, and not all of them archived material that could be held against them. Oberan’d infiltrated several. Sneaking inside was easy, as was getting out. Sifting through correspondence and reports and other documents on the other hand… He wasn’t certain what to look for in the first place. All he’d found wasn’t relevant to the current situation, or it had been encrypted to the point that to him it seemed like an illiterate toddler had tried writing a letter. Since their discovery of a mole in their midst, it wasn’t inconceivable that they’d become a lot more careful too. Sensitive information might be destroyed immediately after reading.
Either way, not every Spinner’s den had useful information lying around, and even if they did, it was tough to figure out what could prove an asset. Letters and messages were all great, but could easily be forged and thus disregarded. The Mortalborn had thought about kidnapping a Spinner and make them fess up, but Sintra might convince the Etzori that the person was a paid actor. Essentially, the same problem as with the correspondence.
What Oberan needed was indisputable evidence. Something neither the Spinners, the public, or Sintra could easily dismiss. His mind went to the cube, but it had come from underneath Rhakros, and as a result could be claimed to be Lisirra’s toy.
Really, the most problematic obstacle was not the gathering of the evidence itself, but who it was supposed to be used against. Sintra was too slick, too smooth a talker. Oberan didn’t doubt for a moment that if she wanted to, she could talk herself out of just about any situation given time to work a crowd. Which she had already gotten plenty of.
To counter that, the ‘prosecutor’ accusing Sintra of masterminding the plague, the siege, and subsequent gratitude of the Etzori needed to be equally skilled in rhetoric. Someone convincing, devious, and charismatic. The kind of person who could rally a crowd with but a few words. As far as Oberan knew, the only person coming close to that ideal was Pahrn himself, and he had already been swayed by the Spider Queen.
Although, that wasn’t such a bad idea, actually. Sintra’s ploy should still be in the early stages. Pahrn should still hold more favor than her. His word had to weigh heavier than hers.
It sounded almost ridiculously simple. Surely the Immortal had planned for such things. Then again, she might not expect anyone to be able to get into Pahrn’s private quarters. That would be the place to speak without listening ears.
A simple plan, but those were said to be the best ones. For all its simplicity, the plan was also very dangerous. Risky. If the Grand Marchal refused to listen… well, he’d have to leave the city for a long while. Thrilling. A big gamble.
Despite not wanting to be that deep into this mess, Oberan liked this plan.
This was more his style.
It would still take some damn impressive evidence for the odds of this working not being infinitesimally tiny, however.
